Daybreak
by Ambi-turner
Summary: MWPP, third year. Being a werewolf means living out a nighmare once a month and, for Remus, things are going to get worse before they get better. Rating may change (slash)
1. Light Hearted

Remus Lupin twirled his quill absently between his first-fingers and thumb, staring through, rather than at Professor Connicus, who was outlining some of the traits of the common werewolf.

"During the build up to the full moon, the lycanthrope is likely to experience any number of the symptoms listed on page 41 of you textbooks…"

At this unexpected short pause in Professor Connicus' diction, Remus' eyes and brain simultaneously re-focused on reality. He glanced sideways at James, who was sitting just to his left on the pew-like seats of the Defence classroom, and watched him flip lazily to a page entitled, "Werewolves – Symptoms through the Phases". Groaning inwardly, he found the page in his own book and skimmed the page, his eyes resting on a yellow fact file mid-way down the page, of "Symptoms at the Waxing Gibbous". What followed was, unsurprisingly, a pretty good summary of all his current ills:-

"When the moon is at the Waxing Gibbous phase of its calendar (see page 29) a werewolf will experience numerous side-effects of the condition, such as:

-A heightening of appetite  
-Inability to concentrate  
-Mood swings  
-Sharpening of senses, i.e. smell, taste, vision.  
-Exhaustion"

'They forgot to mention the headaches,' he thought, rubbing his temples in an attempt to ward away the pain he could feel just beginning to build there. Sighing in resignation, Remus went back to idly playing with his quill and was soon lost once more in his own thoughts.

Just as he was making a mental list of all the work that had been set recently and was trying to sort them into some sort of priority order, he was rudely jolted back to the present by way of a (none too gentle) elbow to the ribs. Turning to glare at James, to whom the offending elbow belonged, Remus suddenly became aware of how silent it was, and looked up.

Professor Connicus was staring expectantly at him from behind his overly-long, brown fringe.  
"Well, Remus? Am I to take it that you do not know the answer?"

Remus groaned inwardly for a second time; Professor Connicus had always had a bit of a fixation with the throwing out of tricky or obscure questions in order to catch people out, particularly Remus, as it happened. Most likely because, so far, the lycanthrope was the one of the only students he hadn't managed to catch off-balance yet.  
"I'm sorry, Sir," Remus began, "I didn't hear the question, could you rep..."  
"Absolutely not Mr. Lupin." Connicus cut him off, "And I will have to take 5 points from Gryffindor for your total lack of focus… Unless," his dark eyes glinted challengingly, "you can answer me another question – same subject. Harder of course… Hmm, let me think."  
Connicus walked slowly around his desk, before coming to rest in the chair standing behind it, where he stared thoughtfully at Remus.

Several minutes passed in this fashion, until the class began to emit a general speculative murmur. Remus could fully understand why, as it seemed as though Connicus had completely forgotten what he was supposed to be doing. The elder man was still staring at him, but his eyes had taken on a vaguely glazed (and rather unnerving) look, his elbows on the table, hands forming a triangle starting at the bridge of his nose. Feeling more than slightly uncomfortable, Remus chanced a glance at James, and further along the row, Sirius. The raven-haired boy didn't notice, as he had begun to pack his belongings away into his bag, and James merely offered a shrug and a lop-sided smile.

Suddenly Connicus stood up straight, uprooting his chair and sending it toppling loudly to the flagstones, provoking several yelps of surprise from various corners of the classroom at the same time.  
"Right!" He exclaimed triumphantly, "Mr. Lupin, tell me: What was the popular belief that Muggles in the 1800's held about the way in which one became a werewolf?"

Sometimes Remus wondered if Dumbledore had actually told _all _of the teaching staff about his monthly condition, or just the ones he though ought to know. Then again, it was entirely possible that Connicus _had_ been told and was either good at pretending he didn't know or had genuinely forgot he was ever told. Both were equally likely.  
"Muggles used to believe that people transformed into werewolves at will by tying a belt or strap of wolf-skin around their waists. They also seem to have thought it possible for some werewolves to remove their skin in the same way that an Irish Selkie does. This would supposedly allow the werewolf to switch between forms."

Professor Connicus' face had been falling steadily since Remus had begun, and he now looked positively sullen.  
"Very well. Yes, Mr. Lupin, very… good. 5 points to Gryffindor… I suppose. That's it for today. Class dismissed." Connicus righted his chair and sat down behind his desk once more, where he proceeded to pour over a handful of dusty files in a stiff pretence of occupation.  
"Well! What are you all still doing here? I said class dismissed!" He snapped at the retreating backs of a handful of students and some of those that were slower at getting their equipment together.

Safely out of the Defence room, James ran a hand through his hand and turned to stare in exasperation at the other three boys that made up their close-knit group.  
"I don't know whether to be scared of that man or feel genuinely sorry for his obvious lack of mental stability," he said, shaking his head.  
"Forget that." Sirius replied, brushing James' small predicament aside with a wave of his hand and instead turned to the tawny-haired of the four, "Re; pop quiz."

Remus looked up from fiddling with the sleeves on his robe, which was about 3 sizes too large for him. His mother had insisted that there was no point in buying a robe that actually _fitted_, as he would grow out of it too quickly, what with growth spurts an all. That had been 3 years ago, at the start of his first year, and he still hadn't caught up with the size of his clothing.  
"Mmm?" He said questioningly, his growing headache stopping him from being all that communicative.  
"How, the bloody hell." Sirius paused for dramatic effect, "did you know all that stuff?"  
Remus hesitated and began to fiddle nervously with his sleeves again. Did Sirius suspect anything or was he just being Sirius?  
"I… Well, I read a lot, as well you know." He responded as seamlessly as he could, flashing a brief grin at Sirius.

Before Sirius could respond, Peter, who must have noticed Remus' discomfort, spoke up.  
"Are you alright, Remus? I mean, you don't look too good." He said, glancing at Remus. Then he realised that what he had just said could be taken in rather the wrong way than he intended and continued nervously, "Um, well, you know. It's not that you look _bad_ or anything. Just that you don't look like you feel very well… erm… I'm digging a hole, aren't I?"  
"Centre of the earth: 10 miles" James replied, grinning at the other boys discomfort.  
"Well, actually, he does have a point," Sirius chipped in, and turned to regard the werewolf walking alongside them.  
"Hmm, I guess he does look kind of peaky and all…" James mused aloud, also adding his gaze to the other two already staring at Remus.  
"Yeah, and he's got…"  
"I'm fine!" Remus growled, sounding much more forceful and annoyed than he felt, to which he received one shocked, one amused and one somewhat worried look from James, Sirius and Peter respectively.  
"Just got a bit of a headache is all." He added in a tone that more resembled his normal voice.  
"Totally understandable, Rem, after the strain you put it through on a regular basis" Sirius replied brightly, flinching slightly at the look he received for it, "Sorry, sorry. Just, next time you're not feeling well, tell me, and I promise not to mock your all-knowing-ness whilst you are in pain."  
"How noble of you," Remus nodded, shooting a wry smile in Sirius' general direction.

"Damn," James muttered as they arrived at the door of their next classroom.  
"Eh?" Sirius peered through the doorway and into the room, "what's up with you, James?"  
"Oh, nothing much." He replied, "I was just sort of hoping that Mrs. Astera had dropped dead or something."  
"James!" Peter squeaked out what would have been an admonition from anyone else.  
"You can hardly blame me, Peter. Honestly, the woman is a complete tyrant."  
"Actually Iwas under the impression thatthe reason you hated her so much was because you are so blindingly bad at potions, thus forcing her to giveyou continuously poor marks…" Sirius mused out loud, with the general aim of incensing his friend. This largely succeeded, and Sirius found himself being chased into the classroom by a suitably irate James, Peter trailing in behind them.

Remus, however, lingered at the door. His head wasn't getting any better, as he had hoped it might. Conversely, it was getting gradually worse. After a few more moments of hesitation he waved at James, Peter and Sirius, who were looking at him questioningly and mouthed, "I'm going to the hospital wing. See you later."

Turning back along the corridor that they had just come down, Remus made for the hospital wing on the second floor.


	2. Lost in Darkness

The halls of Hogwarts had never seemed so long to Remus, as he made his way to the hospital wing. He'd decided that he'd just get a quick dose of medicine and then return to his class, after all, it _was _just a headache... Or so it had seemed when it had begun; now it felt to Remus as though the hand on his forehead was the only thing keeping it from splitting open. The walls seemed to be moving like an animal tormented, and the constant blurred movement in the many portraits lining them wasn't exactly helping him feel any more stable.

Just as his viewpoint was beginning to resemble an image reflected in a pool lightly rained on, the wooden double doors to the infirmary appeared to his left. Turning, he groped at the handle with his hands, now almost frantic for the white quiet that it would offer. The doors finally gave way and opened out into the room.

Far from the calm and orderly scene that he had expected, Remus was met with utter confusion and chaos. It looked as though someone had unleashed a whirlwind on the room; the lights were out, several bottles of healing potions had been broken open and were dripping their contents onto the floor, cupboards stood gaping open, shattered glass was everywhere and broken bedposts with tangled linens stood like shipwrecks across the room.

Remus stumbled backwards in surprise, trying to get his eyes to focus better in the dark room, in the hope of picking out the shape of Madame Amalthea or some other authority. Then, from the far corner of the room, came a dull thud and the tinkling of more glass. Someone was still in the room. Without really thinking, Lupin reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers about his wand, before advancing slowly into the semi-darkness.

Cursing the carpet of broken glass that crunched tellingly under his feet, Remus reasoned that it probably didn't matter all that much, considering that he hadn't opened the door to the room with any great delicacy. Still, he thought nervously, it was odd that the whomever was in the room hadn't been quieter, had they indeed known that he was there. They were silent now though, he noted, his heart speeding up and pounding uncomfortably in his aching temples as he stepped over a chair leg, moving ever closer to the end of the room.

Another thud, and Remus' heart leapt into his mouth; it was behind him. Wheeling round, he just caught the outline of a man in the light from the open door, before it was slammed shut. Blinking desperately in the now almost pitch room, he began to move quickly back to the doorway, panic building in his chest and his head still swimming. Sweat beaded on his face, but he was nearly at the door, nearly out of the close blackness. Then he tripped.

With a yelp Remus went down, expecting to smack into the glass-strewn floor beneath him. But his hands, outstretched to break his fall, stopped him before he fell that far. He gripped at the object that had stopped his descent and leaned forward against it. From the feel of it, he was gripping fabric; probably one of the upturned beds he though, when suddenly it lurched forward and a hand grabbed his wrist.  
"You, are not supposed to be here, little third year," a masculine voice hissed in his ear.

Shock displaced the fear that he would have otherwise been feeling and rendered him momentarily immobile. Another hand reached out to cover his mouth, and the werewolf quickly regained his senses: he had to escape. Desperately, he struck out with his free hand, but found that this resulted in his other arm being cruelly twisted behind him. His cry was muffled by the hand of the stranger.  
"Don't mess with me boy, or I'll break it," the voice at his ear came again, "you're lucky I like you; I'd usually do far worse to someone who got in my way," it leered. "As it happens I'll think I'll let you go. Sporting of me, isn't it? Of course, you'll tell no one, that goes without saying… Unless you have something of a death wish. You don't, do you?"

Something about the tone of the voice told Remus that he had better respond, and he shook his head quickly. This turned out to be extraordinarily painful, and stars rushed in front of his eyes, unbalancing him so that he tipped forward precariously. This brought him much closer to his assailant than he wanted to be, and he attempted to reverse the action. Apparently the stranger wasn't inclined to allow this, however, and Remus' arm was once more twisted to prevent further movement.  
"Seems you like me too, mmm?" The voice was heavy with amusement, "shame I'm going to have to leave you now really," it continued, and Remus felt the hand covering his mouth being removed. There was a slight rustle of material as the other man removed something from his robes, before bringing the hand back to pinch Remus' nose. In confusion he opened his mouth to allow him to breathe easily again, only to have his mouth covered as well, this time with the stranger's own. Feeling suffocated and totally perplexed by the warm lips that were stopping his breath Remus tried to protest, wriggling despite the increasing pain being inflicted on his arm because of this. He stopped dead, however, when he felt a moist tongue enter his mouth, along with a cool, bitter liquid. Poison? Remus' tried to think of a way to avoid swallowing the substance, but his head was spinning, his lungs felt as though they might burst, his arm felt like a white hot poker had been applied to it and his stomach was inappropriately filled with a fluttering feeling. He realised he had no choice, and swallowed.

Almost instantly the hand was removed from his nose, but the lips lingered for a moment before parting from his, almost reluctantly, it seemed. Remus gasped at the air in relief, feeling the cool air wash into his strained lungs.  
"Good boy", came the silky response to his forced compliance, "remember, not a word to anyone about this mess." Though the man's tone was still pleasant, Remus could hear the threatening undertones bubbling beneath the surface. At least the warning meant that it probably wasn't poison he had just swallowed. But in that case, what had it been? His captor effectively prevented any further thought, by suddenly releasing Remus' arm and allowing him to stumble to the floor.  
"You'd probably better stay down there, or you'll be falling down in a few moments," Remus was advised, as he attempted to stand. Strangely though, his body was not responding to his need to be vertical, his limbs suddenly becoming stubbornly leaden and uncooperative. He scowled at his offending legs and mentally willed them to move, just as a curious wave of warmth spread upwards from his toes. The feeling spread through his body, catching in his chest and forming cold beads of sweat all over, as he gave in to the floor completely.

As he lay unmoving on the floor he thought he saw, in the few moments before he blanked out completely, the outline of a man exit through the door again. And in the light, a glint of silver cascading over his shoulders and down his back.


End file.
